


Petricite Dreams

by Quillfiend



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, Magic, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-14 15:39:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19276306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillfiend/pseuds/Quillfiend
Summary: A witch - his witch - is chained. A wizard - her wizard - makes a desperate pact to save her, but does she truly need saving?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VsaFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VsaFic/gifts).



> A wild soul inspired me to write some more VeiLu :v Rating pending.

_He stood before the shining gates, gray and still and lonely, and in that gold and glory he was the only thing that stood out to me. I looked into his sad, stone eyes and they made me forget about the rules and the don'ts, because all I saw and remembered in that moment was little me, surrounded by things and people like me and still being an outsider._

_O Galio, Galio, wherefore art thou Galio? Deny thy king and refuse thy kingdom. What have they ever done for you?_

_I was with him but briefly, sat on his shoulder and sang lovesongs meant for longing souls lost adrift; I fell asleep when his flesh took away all the sparks, and when I woke I woke in the dark, bound by the same stone lullaby that bid me to dream before._

_But I was not sired by this world that teaches its childer that the only way to exist is through defiance. I need not carve my name into the vagaries of time; it comes whispered by the winds, on tidal waves washing over you at the break of dawn._

_You think me chained, but we are of one soul, one spirit, one nightmare. Look within you and say: in those deep pools of secret and whimsy, are you queen or are you my pawn?_

  
  


„Let me just make absolutely certain I heard right,“ Jericho Swain tapped his claws against the armrest of his obsidian throne, „you are requesting - no, you are _demanding_ my army.“

The hall they stood in proudly defied the Noxian pragmatic stereotype and about any notion of modesty that came with it. It was large, opulent and full of overdone warlike imagery carved into its dark stone walls; where the _genius loci_ of every other imperial fort was a stern warrior, the spirit of this place was a boasting monarch, braying his achievements to all willing or unwilling to listen.

It was also obnoxiously familiar. The intrusive memory of being abused in this very hall forced a permanent sneer onto Veigar's feline face, and his fangs were thus always revealed. He wanted to believe that made him more intimidating in his negotations, though deep down he knew that probably wasn't the case. Not here nor anywhere else.

„Correct,“ he affirmed Swain's words, nonchalantly waving his staff about, „though as it's a shared interest, I don't see what's so unbelievable about this demand. You wouldn't have granted me an audience if you didn't at the very least consider my plea.“

Swain leaned back in his throne, smiling. „It's not every day that a _yordle_ comes begging for the Triumvirate's attention.“

„I didn't beg,“ Veigar barked, but was quick to regain his composure: „Of course, if you feel so threatened by me, I suppose I can tolerate some posturing.“

Swain's smile remained. „You're very bold for something so small.“

„I knew the man who _built_ this place,“ Veigar said with notable disgust, „I spat on his grave, and now some wizard with hardly a tenth of his power and half his total number of arms sits here and tosses what he undoubtedly believes to be clever remarks at me. Would you not be bold?“

A moment of silence followed, after which Swain pushed himself off his dark seat with a hearty laugh. Veigar squinted, his long ears twitching in anticipation.

„I like you, little thing,“ Swain's raven cape rustled behind him, „you claim to have known Sahn-Uzal, hm? You've got my curiosity now.“

Veigar suppressed the urge to take a step back as the mage-potentate neared him; he despised looking up at taller people. „That's information, and information doesn't come free.“

„Of course, but what guarantee do I have that you are speaking the truth?“

„I know about the well,“ Veigar said, his voice plain and cold, though shivering from the immense satisfaction the spark of fear in Swain's eyes gave him, „the _Ochnun_ lining its edges, the name you heard deep in the Bastion.“

It was as if a raven opened its wings to rise, the sound of swirling feathers filling the hall. And Veigar was afraid, _of course_ he was afraid; this was a dangerous game he was playing here, showing his hand so early on, but he had no other choice but to go all in now that the only person he ever cared for needed his help. He owed Lulu at least this much.

„That doesn't mean you know something I _don't,“_ Swain said after the raven demon within him calmed down; its ominous shadow remained, looming tall behind him. „I am the eye of this empire, its restless mind. How is it that, if you truly knew Sahn-Uzal and saw the inside of the Immortal Bastion, I have never heard your name before?“

„My name is my execution sentence, my obscurity my sanctuary. This is not something I need to explain, not to somebody who claims to be a visionary.“

„Yet you step forward now. A foolish move, if you truly are who you say you are.“

„A _desperate_ move.“

Once again, silence filled the chamber. Swain's inky eyes scrutinized the little wizard, and Veigar felt his mind slipping with every second. He despised politics, empires and their stupid, short-lived rulers; Jericho Swain was no different from mages he'd killed before and yet he was at his mercy now. He hated this fact, almost as much as he hated knowing that the demon inside him was laughing right now and he had no way of reminding her that he could banish her as easily as he summoned her with his dark master millennia ago.

„Ask Beatrice,“ Veigar whispered, „ask the lady of the red sky.“

Jericho Swain turned on his heel, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. „This is sudden. Unusual. Dangerous. I must consider this.“

„Time is of the essence.“

„Our minds thrive at night,“ the general paced back towards his throne, „go now, servant of Sahn-Uzal. I will send for you in the morning.“

Veigar almost bit through his tongue suffering that insult; he imagined the little enchantress, her laugh, how much she needed him now, and only that kept him from hurling a shadow sphere at the sorcerer. Two Trifarian legionnaires came to escort him out, and Veigar was forced to douse his anger for now; worse things awaited him in Noxus now that the raven was about to swallow the day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Miles apart and yet you still linger within my dreams. Not because you are different, but because you are differently different. I've no common ground with anyone, but only you agreed to burn it down. We're longing souls left adrift, always will be, but you're fine with it and so am I._

_I promised not to, but there were nights when I could not sleep and so I browsed your memories like an open book, took out the worst and fed it to the dog that is my curiosity. I'm sorry, Veigar - for what I've done and for what we've all done. You're a starless galaxy, but it's in the dark that I feel most at peace, hidden from the world._

_I don't show you the starless parts of me because you need me bright, but down here I Am Become Dark. When my jailors go to sleep, I show them the sorrow that haunts me, the eldritch corners of my mind that taught me the most terrible things come from within oneself. At first I felt guilty, but then I learned to see all the bad things I do as revenge against the world that hurt you. Perhaps when you finally see I can be as cruel as you, you will trust me to protect you._

  
  


There was a certain charm to the city built around the cursed bastion. It was cramped, narrow, _diverse;_ every street was a cozy shelter of its own, presenting a more nurturing side of Noxus and reminding its citizens that as long as they were willing to bow to the empire, there was space for all cultures and traditions underneath its wide wings. It was something Veigar enjoyed greatly _,_ and despite how much he tried to hate everything standing in his former prison's shadow, he had to admit to being _enchanted_ by this new capital. It was certainly better than most cities he came across in his long life.

His quiet pondering of the capital's diverse beauty was abruptly cut short when he realized he was no longer walking alone. A tall figure now paced beside him, a pale woman garbed in only the finest Shuriman silks.

And Veigar, the proud wizard who bowed to noone and nothing, canted his head in precisely that - a subservient, grateful bow reserved for a single soul in the under and overworld.

„I see you are doing well,“ LeBlanc noted, breathing in the fresh, chilly air, „your scars have healed - save for the _aesthetically pleasing_ ones, of course.“

Veigar smiled. „Surely _you_ of all people aren't going to chide me for some vanity.“

„Quite the opposite, old friend. Nothing is as displeasing as ancient, disheveled mages that spend none of their extraordinary power on making themselves presentable.“

„I'm just going to assume _that_ was the real reason for you unseating Mordekaiser,“ the yordle opened his gauntlet to catch little sparks of illusory magic, „poor presentation.“

„Of course!“

Veigar had planned to find some forgotten, shady inn and meditate for the rest of the night, but it seemed now that his new companion's plans for him were different. She was quick to lead him away from the cramped city slums and into the golden neighbourhoods, where the noble houses of Noxus resided and plotted against each other. While shown in more ostentatious ways, the diversity of the ragtag empire persisted even here; each house brought with them their symbolism and architecture, making each corner of the high districts look like a different part of the world. Veigar admired their fierce individualism, and were it not for the nightmarish bastion in the middle of the city, he could've seen himself settling in the capital for a century or two.

„Where are we going?“ he finally dared ask; he didn't like being left in the dark.

„Ah, _I_ am going to the Cabal,“ LeBlanc answered with a faint smile, „I'd be delighted if you accompanied me.“

He didn't have much of a choice. He owed her his freedom and his life, and as such was beholden to her until that debt was paid. „I'm hardly dressed for the occassion.“

„You don't worry about that.“ She winked at him. „If you aid me in a small matter, I will support your plea before Swain.“

 _Of course she already knew about that._ „I cannot imagine an issue you could not handle without my help.“

„'Tis not always a question of capability, you should know that.“

She didn't clarify beyond that point, and Veigar was wiser than to pry. He could only assume she was using him for entertainment, and a part of him even believed that she simply enjoyed his company for the similarities between she and him; there weren't a great many people older than even the Runewars, and nigh-immortality made one above else solitary, lonesome. Friends and lovers came and passed, and burying one too many a kindred spirit was a heavy burden to bear.

It soon became apparent that they were headed for none of the fancy villas, but rather a stone spire built into the thick city walls. It seemed a regular watchtower at first, but Veigar did not doubt LeBlanc for a second; they slipped inside through a rickety door and continued down below surface along a dim, narrow stairway the likes of which were most often found in bleak prisons. There was a reason for this familiarity, as they were indeed brought to a dusty catacomb, fortunately void of any prisoners. Veigar shivered, a chill running down his spine; rusty dungeons brought unpleasant memories.

„You see,“ LeBlanc spoke again as she leaned against one of the thick cell doors; with no vents or gaps to see what lie behind it, Veigar could only guess where he was about to enter. „There is a traitor among the Cabal's followers, a foolish young girl who shares our secrets with the Trifarix, hoping to play both sides. While her boldness is impressive, I'm insulted by her ineptitude.“

„You want to use me to send a bloody message, then.“

Wild magic illuminated the stone walls around them, and Veigar felt a tingle run down his body as his garments changed; his gauntlet was made gold rather than steel, his blue travel robe replaced by one that was much heavier, made of black velvet and adorned with glimmering threads. At the same time, LeBlanc opened the door, leading him into what seemed an entirely different world at first; the little wizard was suddenly overwhelmed by lights, voices and music, all mixing in a cacophonous clamour in the radiant hall before them. With a firm squeeze of his shoulder, LeBlanc brought Veigar into the noisy ballroom; the two of them were immediately met with curious gazes from the surrounding courtiers, and Veigar straightened his back and squinted in a condescending frown.

„A face and a mark,“ LeBlanc said as the crowd swallowed them, pressing something small into Veigar's palm. An image of a young, masked woman flashed through his mind before fading into his memory; he looked at the little object in his gloved hand, a tiny rose seed ready to be planted in suitable soil. He knew well what it was for.

„Impress me,“ LeBlanc graced him with a parting smile, „dazzle me with your brilliance, Veigar. At midnight, we will toast to your name.“

He had questions, but no time to ask them. Too many were listening now, and he was too fancy a guest to go unnoticed. Swarmed by oblivious youngsters that formed the lowest circles of LeBlanc's enigmatic Black Rose cabal, Veigar became their newest exciting attraction, one that had to be interrogated, cheered for, laughed at, touched and ruffled. And he would've loved the attention were it not soured by the bitter taste of blood he was about to spill.

 


End file.
